Snow, Blood, and Mahogany - A Grimmauld Fairy Tale
by itakethewords
Summary: Fair as snow, red like blood, and rich in heart and strong like mahogany. This is what happens when Muggles accidentally cast blood magic. Only, it takes someone special to learn just who is the fairest in the land. Hermione, with seven Weasleys and her Prince settle it once and for all. A Grimmauld Fairy Tale. M For a reason.


_**Author's Note**: Hello! I'm here, I'm alive! I made it through Christmas...barely. I promised at least one during the holiday season and here we are. I'd have had this out by Christmas, but I've been having terrible migraines and, if you know those, adding a computer to the mix isn't wise. But I made this one for everyone, so here is my New Year gift to all of you. Happy 2015!_

_And here we are, another Grimmauld Fairy Tale! Cookies to anyone who gets the name of this Fairy Tale, and it's not what you actually think! I based mine not on Disney! And of course, made changes to the folklore as needed for the HP World. As usual, I rated this story M. For reasons. Reviews are lovely things and they let me know people are reading! Let's say, if this story hits 15 (for 2015!) individual reviews, I'll post something by the end of January (I already know which I'll be posting next. Plus, it's a character a lot of you want!)._

_Disclaimer: I own nothing but my fluffy plot bunnies. Also, see credits at the end for certain borrowed aspects. _

_Enjoy!_

* * *

In the middle of a particularly harsh English winter, there once was a gentle woman who sat at her windowsill, which was slightly cracked open, watching the fat snowflakes drop from the low clouds as she read. Occasionally, the wind would bring the fat flakes onto the sill to create a thin pile lasting just a few moments. Her attention wavered and she sighed, thinking about how another year had come and gone and once more, she and her husband had yet to have a child. Hissing quietly, she realized that, with her attention diverted, she'd ran the edge of a page across the pad of her finger, slicing it as to draw blood. Before she could staunch the blood flow, three drops fell onto the newest pile of powder snow on the sill. Quickly drawing her finger to her mouth, the soft spoken woman whispered,

"I wish I had a daughter, fair as snow, red like blood and rich in heart and strong as this mahogany frame."

She stayed but a few more moments by the window before closing it gently, placing her book upon the shelf, and retiring for the night. She joined her husband in bed and, after pecking his sleeping form on the forehead, put no more thought into her whispered wish. Until nine months later.

And nine months later, that September, the woman and her husband did indeed become blessed with the birth of their first daughter. They named her Hermione after her grandmother, but nicknamed her Snowdrop at her mother's insistence. Her lips were red like fresh blood, her cheeks flushed with health, her skin was fair like fallen snow, and her hair thick and rich as the mahogany that the window sills in the family's house were made of.

As each year passed, Snowdrop became more fair and clever, much to the delight of her mother and father. Unfortunately, the more vivacious and beautiful she became, the weaker her mother would become until one day, with both her husband and Snowdrop at her side, she passed away in a hospital room from sickness just after her daughter's seventh birthday. Snowdrop and her father lived alone in their home for a year before her father remarried.

The woman was beautiful, in a way not unlike her mother with classical features. However, the beauty only extended to the outside of the woman when it came to dealing with Snowdrop. Stating that she was too old for pet names, she convinced her father that it was important to call her by her given name of Hermione.

She was stern but sweet in front of the man of the home, however, each morning after he left for the dental office until he came home for dinner, the woman became sharp and unyielding with Hermione.

"Children were meant to be seen when asked for and never heard," was her motto she always snapped at Hermione. So when Hermione received her Hogwarts letter, it was a mixed joy for the stepmother. She was thrilled to see the budding grace of Hermione out of sight, for every day that passed, she grew to become one step closer to a lovely young woman. It caused great jealousy in her heart and on her face whenever it was brought up, no matter the person. On the other hand, she was fearful that Hermione was a witch in training and that magic existed, saying as such in late night conversations in the form of pillow talk.

But the night before she left to take the Hogwarts Express to the Scottish castle, Hermione heard muttering on her way to the kitchen for water. Padding in the hall, hoping to keep the noise of her movement silent, Hermione strained her ears to the door of the sitting room.

"_Tell me, glass! Tell me, true!_

_Of all the ladies in the land,_

_Who is fairest, tell me who!"_

Her stepmother's voice was firm, but held a hint of desperation, of fear.

Bewildered, Hermione's mind raced to figure out just what was happening behind the closed door. Though she couldn't see through the solid wood, she could feel a raw power in the air, similar to the power she felt come from the older professor who had visited her during the summer.

"_You are fair and beauteous, obvious to prove,_

_But beware, another will soon be fairer than you."_

Hermione had to stifle a gasp, a sickly, cloying power rolled out the reply to her stepmother. And in response, she could feel the same rage that usually followed whenever Hermione was praised by her father. Before she could hear something destroyed or cursing, she ran back up to her room, throwing herself into bed. She just had to get to the train and she could get away from her stepmother until Christmas. Hopefully by then, whoever she was talking to would stop goading her rage and vanity.

For, if there was nothing else Hermione had taken away from her stepmother in the last three and a half years was that she was particularly vain.

/*\

Seventh Year

Hermione was sitting by the Black Lake, staring off without truly seeing. Exams were done for herself, finished the afternoon before. All that was left with her time at Hogwarts was graduation that weekend. Her brain was still humming with information; magic, theory, ceremony, and the letter she'd gotten that morning over breakfast.

Her father had died, apparently in a traffic accident caused by a postal truck. It was a note hastily scribbled on the back of junk mail and folded over many times.

_Your father was in a car accident late last night. He didn't make it._

_Ginger_

"Hermione?"

Startled out of her melancholy, Hermione looked up to see Harry looking down at her sitting form, face full of worry. She tried to muster up a smile, but failed miserably. So instead, she patted the patch of grass next to her, inviting her friend to join her. When he semi-gracefully managed to fold himself down on the ground, she reached out for his hand and relaxed when he immediately gave her his to hold.

"I'm not going to ask if you're okay. But I do want to know how you're doing. You've been out here nearly all day."

Hermione kept her eyes on the grass, her free hand plucking individual blades. Beside her, Harry's warm hand felt comfortable in hers, his presence solid in the turbulent emotions she was feeling. It took her several tries to gather the words to express how she felt.

"I don't know, Harry. I don't even know the details, I'm surprised she told me. I-I want to see him, to do all the necessary stuff for a service. I want to say goodbye. But…" She paused to take a deep breath. Her voice was starting to waiver. "I don't want to go back without him to go back to. He's my father! He was all I had left and that woman will drive me mad!"

Harry sat in silence, letting Hermione rant. This was usually the best course of action in any given situation. When he felt she was done, he said,

"You know my thoughts. You go back home, do what's right by your father's memory, and ignore Ginger. Soon as it is settled and you've said goodbye, come to Grimmauld. I-We'll all be there, waiting."

"You're sure Sirius won't mind me spending the summer there?"

"Of course not! Everyone else will be popping in and out throughout, anyhow. Plus, it will be nice to see someone else other than him and Valerie hiding in various nooks of the damn house," Harry said, recalling the various horrifying times he'd run across his godfather and the man's longtime girlfriend.

Hermione bit her lip, stealing a glance at her close friend. Loss was nothing particularly new to Harry, or the wizarding world. He lost his parents when he was a baby, after all. Many others had lost their lives in the war against Voldemort eighteen years before in the Blood War. Hermione was thankful for the time she'd had with her father, even with the strained moments more recently when Ginger was involved.

"I'll come back before your birthday, Harry. We'll have a proper party. Just make sure Ron and the others show up, I'll do the rest." Hermione gave a small smile and rested her chin on her palm, leaning forward on her knees.

Harry just nodded and put his arm around her shoulder.

/*\

Apparating on the fly in the middle of the night wasn't exactly how Hermione pictured her summer nights. But here she was, hopping along the countryside, trying to get herself anywhere safe where the crazy woman wouldn't think to look. She hadn't truly put her father to rest twenty-four hours before and Ginger had shown her true colors; by trying to kill Hermione.

Three days after the afternoon on the lake with Harry, one day after graduation, Hermione arrived home to her stepmother who had holed herself in the sitting room, the doors locked tight. Ginger only came out for Doctor Granger's funeral and the reading of the will. At the burial, the woman sobbed during the service and dramatically threw roses into the grave. Hermione remained in her seat, quietly crying, eyes fixated at her feet. During the wake, Ginger buzzed around like a hostess of a Christmas party, not the grieving wife mourning the loss of her husband. Hermione said little, but spoke a few words to those who understood her quieter than usual demeanor. The whole while she wished she'd let Harry or Ron, or even Susan or Luna come to give her strength, instead, her stubborn pride was clearly the culprit.

Another day passed and then came the visit with her father's solicitor. As a whole the Granger family was living modestly, hovering in the upper middle class of Crawley. There was the dental practice, some savings, minor items, and some heirlooms from the Granger side know by both women. The solicitor sat across from them, shuffling through his papers, making tick marks for points of interest while Ginger shifted eagerly in her seat. Hermione just sat, curled slightly in on herself and watching the man's hands.

"Ahem, well," he began. His voice, Hermione noted, was fairly deep for such a slender and willowy man. "You'll pardon me, but I have to read through the document as written first. Then, once I've read through, as law dictates, we can skip around." She nodded and the man turned his gaze to Ginger, who waved him to go on with a flick of the wrist.

So the solicitor read the legalese with a practiced tongue, much in the same way spells rolled off of Hermione's with ease. She'd barely paid attention, though. Her mind was buzzing in the background, sorting through the information, but her face remained blank. Ginger's, on the other hand, showed impatience.

"I have no idea what you just read. If you could speak English and not lawyer talk, I would appreciate it." She crossed her arms over her chest with still caged impatience. Hermione started when she spoke, eyes wide; her stepmother paid her no mind.

Hermione's brain made the connection of what the will was saying and braced herself.

"Mrs. Granger," he huffed. "Mr. Granger left you your home and any vehicles and he left Miss Granger the practice, heirlooms, and the savings. The amount in any other accounts is also yours, however, from this point forward, you have no access to the aforementioned items left to Mr. Granger's daughter, Hermione."

The solicitor took Ginger's stunned silence to sort through the papers in front of him, dividing them into three piles. Once he finished, he passed two of them to both Hermione and Ginger, laying them in front of the two women. Hermione took the opportunity to thumb through the presented papers; next to her, Ginger's eyes were darting between her sorted papers, the solicitor, and Hermione. Presented in black and white, his words were confirmed. Despite being married to Ginger for nearly ten years, he'd been bare on what he'd left her and given his only daughter nearly everything.

While she and Ginger sighed papers, after the woman's frustrated growl, Hermione was acutely aware of the twitch in the woman's left eye.

That night, Hermione had been sleeping in her bed, exhausted after packing up her belongings, sorting through what she no longer needed, and shrinking all the boxes to go in her special beaded bag made her fifth year on a whim. It had undetectable extension charm and a featherweight charm to alleviate the accumulated weight, so she could carry everything she wanted and needed and not break a sweat. Having officially graduated, as well as being of age, the use of her magic outside school was especially handy in her packing efforts. All the laborious work had her sleeping soundly for the first time in weeks, so she didn't hear her door open and knock over a pair of stacked boxes. It was, however, the hair rising on the back of her neck and her arms that stirred her from sleep. As she was brought back to consciousness, she heard muttered words floating above her head.

"Nothing but a little flea….He was a Muggle, shouldn't have had a magic-stealing daughter…"

The word 'Muggle' made her eyes snap open, and as she turned over to face the speaker, she saw Ginger brandishing a wand, the tip slightly sparking acid green. Her eyes were full of murder.

Gasping, Hermione managed to roll over the other edge of the bed, landing hard on the ground. Managing a shaky silent Summoning spell, she wandlessly summoned her beaded bag and vinewood wand and looked back at the raging Ginger. As a hex left the woman's lips, Hermione instinctively Disapparated to the first place she could think of.

The Forest of Dean.

/*\

Hermione knelt among the bracken and litter of the forest in shock. Her knees and legs were already caked in mud and dead leaves, evidence of a recent rain. Breathing deep, she processed the scene she'd left behind moments ago in her childhood home. Ginger. The woman she had called a stepmother had a wand, something that had been inconceivable. She'd been every bit the embarrassed Muggle parent whenever Hermione's magic was brought up in the house, wincing whenever it was brought up or, more recently, performed when she'd come of age the fall before. But there had most definitely been a sparking wand in the woman's manicured hands, a hex or curse dancing on the tip of her tongue. And then, here was Hermione, shivering in her pajamas at two in the morning in a forest.

Taking a deep breath, Hermione stood on stiff legs, her limbs cold from the damp. A quick heating spell and _Scourgify _and she was ready to Disapparate somewhere safer. Thinking of another safe place, she gripped her wand tightly and thought of a warm place to go.

_pop!_

She was gone, leaving the imprints of her knees in the dead leaves.

/*\

Bill and Charlie Weasley were both surprised to hear the pop of Apparition behind them, moments after landing themselves at the Burrow's Apparition point. The two turned simultaneously to see their younger brother's friend Hermione Granger pop into place dressed in her sleepwear and carrying nothing but her wand and a small bag.

"Hermione?" Bill asked cautiously. He didn't want to frighten her and the look on her face was full of fear. Hermione looked at the elder Weasley son, took in his brother next to him, and let out a sigh of what seemed to be relief, promptly collapsing to the ground like a rag doll.

Charlie was the first to reach for her, catching her just before her head hit the ground. He pulled out his wand and muttered a quick levitation spell, her body immediately rising on its own. Charlie used the lack of gravity on her body to carry her back to Bill.

"Let's get home, we can check her for injury and see what's wrong with her."

"Why did she come to the Burrow?" Bill asked as they made their way to their mother's home.

Charlie managed a shrug while holding on to the girl and continued the walk.

/*\

The two Weasley men took her to the Burrow and put her on the couch by the fire in the living room. When morning came, Molly Weasley's scream of surprise woke not only Hermione, but the rest of the house as well. Enveloped in a hug, Ron's mom immediately demanded answers from Hermione as she began breakfast, ignoring the grumbling children in the doorway. Fred and George, who were visiting for the weekend, stood confused with bedhead in the doorway before shaking their heads and going back upstairs. Ron grumbled something unintelligible and stomped past the beamused Bill and Charlie, who still looked half asleep. Upon seeing her eldest sons, Molly let out another gasp of surprise and hugged each of them. Her house was full once more, despite some being off with friends or at work for the summer.

With the bustling Molly and her two sons as her audience, Hermione told them about Ginger's behavior the last week and the shocking attempt she had made on her life (with a wand, no less!). She asked if it was okay that she spend the day at the Burrow before travelling on to Grimmauld Place, hoping that the wards of the Weasley family would keep the enraged stepmother away from her.

Of course, Molly immediately agreed. Her motherly instinct wouldn't ever turn away any of her children, surrogate or otherwise. Bill and Charlie both agreed to refresh the family wards after breakfast, planning on roping in the twins and Ron for extra security.

That afternoon, Hermione was feeling nervous, the energy of the unknown becoming pent up into a tightly wound ball. After swearing and promising to keep vigilant and to send if any trouble came about, Hermione was permitted to leave the house for a walk in the Weasley orchard. The lush foliage and choice fruit beginning to hang heavy, Hermione felt some of the tension in her body relax in the presence of nature. So intent on closing her eyes and enjoying the sun and shade and fresh air, she failed to notice the shadow several rows over pour a potion at the base of one particular apple tree before Disapparating.

Her walk continued, winding around the orchard with carefree ease until she circled back eventually to the row where the shadowed figure had been. Plucking one particularly ripe apple from its branch, and sat at the base of the old tree. Sighing, Hermione let her mind wander as she palmed her apple. Her first summer as a Hogwarts graduate wasn't exactly what she'd expected. She'd definitely been hoping to go on one final holiday with her father before she started her career, something that even Ginger wouldn't have been able to ruin as the woman usually spent holidays at the spa wherever their yearly location might be. And secretly, she'd been hoping that Harry would ask her on a date and that their friendship would turn to something more. Sadly, she knew Harry was pretty clueless when it came to girls, but his reaction to her father's death showed her he was slowly growing out of that awkwardness.

Another slow sigh escaped her lips and she brought the apple to her lips, her teeth crunching into the sweet and tart flesh. The small grin that grew on her lips was short, fading as she swallowed the fruit. The once fanciful flavor of the fruit turned bitter and ashy in her mouth, her tongue shriveled and the acid in her stomach boiled. Gasping for breath, Hermione fumbled for her wand and tried to cast a spell, but her shaking hands dropped the wand. Eyes bulging, she fell to the side, the apple rolling out her her cold hand and only stopping when it hit the trunk of the tree. Two short gasps later, Hermione's lips were blue, skin cooled, and body still.

The bitten apple withered brown and molded as if time sped up on the flesh, melting into the fertile ground. The tree would no longer bear fruit.

/*\

It was an hour later that George stumbled upon her body. His mother sent him to fetch her, half worried she'd been kidnapped and half worried she'd fallen asleep in the sunshine and would catch a sunburn. He hadn't been paying close attention, mind wandering himself, when he tripped over her foot and went sprawling.

"What the hell?" George muttered, getting up and dusting off dirt from his pants and shirt. Looking behind him, he saw the collapsed shell of Hermione Granger. The blood drained from his face and he fell to his knees. Breathing heavy, he whipped out his wand, conjuring a patronus to send back to the Burrow.

"_Come immediately to the orchard! Everyone now! Call a healer!"_ The silver fox sprang into action and took off for the Burrow to relay his message.

George couldn't bring himself to touch her, his instincts telling him what magic would confirm. That Hermione Granger was dead.

/*\

They had taken Hermione's body to St Mungo's where a healer confirmed that she had been poisoned. What's more, that she wasn't dead, but in a form of stasis. The healer had described it as a counterspell half finished.

"It's almost as if Miss Granger realized what was happening as the poison set in and tried to circumvent the effects. She was a second too late to fully setback the effects before proper treatment, but her magic was forceful enough to build a type of defence. For now, you could say that she'll be sleeping forever, or until the poison runs out. If you happen to find me what poisoned her, we can work on an antidote."

The Weasleys had scoured the orchard for any sign of poison or tampering, but came up empty handed. The tree that they'd found Hermione under showed residual magic, but there was hardly a signature for anyone to gather, let alone read and analyze.

When the healer confirmed Hermione's status, both Harry and Sirius insisted that instead of being holed away at St. Mungo's long term patient ward, she come home to Grimmauld Place,where they would see to her care privately. Harry was adamant that Hermione wouldn't want to spend her days, asleep or not, at St. Mungo's. So he and his godfather completely renovated one of the Grimmauld rooms to suit what Hermione needed for her care.

And that was how Sirius and Harry became primary caretakers of Hermione Granger. Not that there was much to the job; her body was all but dead, no functions such as breathing occurred. Only her mind was still alive, though no one knew this. To the outside world, her body was one large stasis charm occurring.

/**\\\

_Hermione was content. It was after the large party she put together for her boyfriend Harry Potter, the guests all gone and both his godfather and the man's fiancee gone to bed for the night. Walking into the library with two hot mugs of butterbeer, she smiled at the sight of Harry thumbing through the book on Animagus training Remus had gotten him. _

"_Eager to read for once, then?" she laughed quietly when he jumped at the sound of her voice. _

_Harry made room for her on the couch and gently placed the book on the table in front of them, gladly taking the hot mug from her outstretched hand. Folding a leg beneath her as she sat next to him, Hermione leaned in close and sighed contentedly as she sipped her drink._

"_Hope your birthday was all you wanted it to be," she said, turning her head to look up at the dark haired wizard. Her grin grew when she saw the faint blush on his cheeks and the smile on his lips._

_He twined his free fingers with hers and gave them a gentle squeeze. "Absolutely. But this right here is best, of course. While I may have been raised by Sirius, I don't really share his love of large, loud parties." He sipped his butterbeer and added, "Thank you again, for the gift. It's my favorite."_

_His green eyes darted down to the table where, next to the Animagus book, sat a large photograph of his mother and father on their wedding day. The magical photo had the two gazing at one another with love before James took Lily in a swooping twirl and proceeded to dance around the frame before coming back front and center, faces full of laughter. It would take him months, or possibly years to admit, but Harry loved this gift above anything else he'd received from any friend. He had the stories and some other candid shots given to him from his parents' friends, but to see them with all encompassing joy brought him warm feelings for the parents he grew up without. And Hermione could see this in his eyes._

_The two made small talk over their butterbeers, slowly leaning closer and closer to one another until she was all but in his lap. She made a cheeky comment over his choice of pudding earlier in the night and to quell her sass, he gave her a kiss. Stunned, Hermione blinked a few times and pulled back a little to look at him._

_The two stared at one another, each holding their breath. Hermione found her eyes drawn to Harry's lips. When he noticed, he licked his lips unconsciously and let out a shaky breath. Like two magnets, they both found themselves drawing in closer, their lips immediately taking from one another with passion. Instinctively, her fingers found their way to his dark locks, weaving themselves through the thick mess. Harry's own hands landed on her hips, pulling her forward to straddle his lap._

_The two sat glued together, lips locked tightly. At some point, Harry's hands had made their way up into her t-shirt, effectively ridding her of the garment and leaving her clad in only her light pink lace bra. His own shirt was split in two, Hermione's clever and impatient fingers using a wandless slicing charm down the middle for her easy access. Already, his chest was littered with light scratch marks._

"_Harry…" Hermione moaned, breaking the kiss. Harry refused to be deterred at let his lips travel along the column of her neck to her chest._

"_Harry, we should...go to your room…" she breathed unsteadily._

_He grunted in reply, too busy leaving a mark to care._

/**\\\

"Harry, you need to go down to Hogwarts. Minerva is expecting you in an hour to talk about the Defense position." Sirius stood in the doorway of the room they'd given to Hermione, mouth turned down in a frown. He watched his godson spend nearly every moment of the day hovering over the form of the girl, holding her hand or reading to her. However, it was July twenty-ninth and he was supposed to be taking on the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts and needed to do the paperwork immediately to plan his lessons. His worry over Hermione was delaying the progr_ession _of his adult life and his stubbornness reminded him of trying to fight with James when he was in stag form: bloody impossible.

"Harry. She's been in stasis for almost a month. She'd be furious with you if she knew how you were spending your summer. Give the girl a kiss goodbye and get your arse to Hogwarts! You have ten minutes before I Side-Along you to Hogsmeade myself!"

Harry ignored Sirius until he left the room, slamming the door, and let out a sigh. He knew his godfather was right, but he wanted to be there if,-no, when-she woke up. He regretted letting his cowardice the last two years hold him back from what he really wanted; her. He'd loved her as more than a childhood friend and the possibility that he would never be able to tell her just that. A lifetime of regrets if she didn't…

Picking up the book of hers he had been reading over the last few days, he started from the beginning, murmuring some of the lines of the narrator.

"_Once upon a time, in deep winter, a Queen  
was admiring the falling snow when she saw  
a rose blooming in defiance of the cold._

_Reaching for it, she pricked her finger and  
three drops of blood fell._

_And because the red seemed so alive against  
the white, she thought, if only I had a  
child as white as snow, lips as red as  
blood, hair as rich as mahogany and  
all with the strength of that rose."_

Harry stopped, closing the book with a snap. Pressing his forehead against the hard cover, he screwed up his courage and stood. Leaving the book on the nightstand, he pressed his lips softly on her own. Their first kiss, chaste.

"I'll come right back, Hermione."

The sound of the front door opening, then slamming shut drifted through the house for a moment, then Hermione took her first breath.

/*\

"_Tell me, glass! Tell me, true!_

_Of all the ladies in the land,_

_Who is fairest, tell me who!"_

Ginger greedily looked into the mirror that she hung ten years ago in the house of the Grangers. The dark magic it was embedded with swirled invisible in the air, feeding off of the woman's black emotion.

"_You are the fairest of the fair_

_Of all the ladies dwelling in the land of the living."_

This satisfied her, solidifying her belief that she had killed Hermione successfully. That she had gotten rid of Snowdrop once and for all.

/*\

Harry came back from Hogwarts, officially a professor at the school of magic come September. However, he was rather reserved as he walked through the door of Grimmauld. He shed the outer robes he'd worn professionally and left them in the entrance hall near the abandoned winter coats. His feet took him straight to Hermione's room where he sat in his chair and looked into her face.

He stopped, noticing something was off.

There was color in her lips. No longer were they a greyish blue, but rather a petal pink. Lush.

He sucked in a breath and leaned closer, touching her face gently, caressing her cheeks, which were still icy like death.

"Hermione?" he whispered.

/**\\\

"_Hermione!"_

_Harry's voice rolled across Hermione's chest as he kissed his way down towards her belly. Her response was a moan of pleasure as she writhed in his hands._

_They'd taken their activities to his room, as she'd suggested, where immediately she locked the door and silenced the room before throwing her wand on the side table and crashing her lips on his. Their hands were all over, grasping and pulling and squeezing. Clothing flew every which way and they both found themselves on the bed; Harry on his back and Hermione straddling him over his half tugged off jeans. Rolling her hips, Hermione breathed a satisfying laugh as her wizard groaned under her and bucked his hips in response._

"_Hermione, please!"_

"_Please what, Harry?" She rolled her hips once more, hovering her lips over his, not quite touching._

"_Wake up, Hermione!"_

_Her body stiffened and she sat up. "What?"_

_Harry's lips did not match the words that Hermione heard. It reminded her of a poorly dubbed Muggle foreign film._

"_Please, Hermione! Wake up!"_

/**\\\

"Hermione, wake up!"

Harry looked down at Hermione, holding her face in his hands. His thumbs made slow circles on the apples of her cheeks. He pressed his lips to hers once more, pouring all his emotion in the single kiss. Slowly, he pulled away, astonished to feel a cool breath tickle his mouth. Opening his eyes, he saw a pair of heavily lidded whiskey eyes drift in and out of focus.

"Hermione!"

She couldn't speak, but her lips did move with the words she wanted to say. She let out a heavy breath, still chilly with her stasis. This snapped sense into Harry, who stood sharply and pulled out his wand.

"I've got to get you to St. Mungo's! Hold on tight," he gathered her body in his arms and Disapparated with a crack.

/*\

One Year Later

Hermione sat straddling Harry's waist, the two languidly kissing in the darkened library of Grimmauld. The night had been spent with their family and friends, celebrating Harry's eighteenth birthday and the sudden and not-so-surprising engagement of the birthday boy and one Hermione Granger. After all, Harry, not one for parties, was willing to share the limelight and forced some on Hermione by playfully producing an engagement ring in exchange for the cake she handed him. He was only just able to catch the plate as she shrieked in surprise, bemused as her eyes bugged out at the sight of the black velvet box.

Their current position vaguely reminded Hermione of her vivid dream from when she'd been poisoned. The thought sent a tingle up her spine. As if sensing her line of thought, Harry squeezed her hips and pulled her closer. He pulled his mouth from hers and rested his sweating forehead against her own.

"Hermione, I just realized...You never answered me."

"Answered?" Hermione's brain was muddled, she could barely put together the words that Harry spoke and just what they meant.

"Well," he placed a kiss on her jawline. "Will you?" Another at the juncture of her neck and shoulder. "Marry me?" Yet another at the valley of her bra-clad breasts.

Hermione stood, surprising Harry, and gathered her shirt. She started walking to the door of the library and looked behind her. She saw Harry's face was full of confusion and panic. "Of course, don't be daft. Now hurry up so we can continue this in your room."

Half growling with pent up frustration, Harry hopped off the couch and ran at Hermione, causing her to half shriek, half laugh and run out of the room, letting Harry chase her up the stairs to the end of the hall. He easily caught up with her with his Quidditch trained body, and pinned her against the door, stealing a deep kiss before opening the door to let the both of them tumble in. Hermione whipped out her wand to shut and lock the door and cast a quick silencing charm before tossing her wand to the nightstand. Her hands went for Harry's shirt, shucking him of the garment as if it offended her and similarly let her hands wander to the fly of his jeans. Harry's lips eagerly took back hers and the two of them dueled for dominance as they attacked one another's clothing. Eager for more, Harry gently pushed Hermione to the bed but took a moment to take in her nude form.

They'd slept together plenty of times since becoming a couple a year ago, however, Harry never got tired of the sight of her smooth skin and gentle curves. He reached out his left and and tangled his fingers with those of her right hand; his other traced a path along her body, from the elegant line of her neck, along the sensitive tips of her breasts, running the pads of his fingers across her taut belly to her hip. His hand became firmer, cupping her ass and squeezing lightly. He chuckled when Hermione squirmed and panted and leaned forward for a kiss.

It took him less than five minutes to bring Hermione to her first orgasm of the night; he was more clever than most people took him for and he was good with his hands, after all. Hermione's most sensitive area was her breasts and a little dirty talk sent the former swot spiraling with a throaty moan. Equally, Hermione had Harry around her little finger. She knew biting his earlobe and a rake of her nails down his back would have him furiously pumping his release, equally sending them both to _la petite morte_. Afterwards, it was all hands and lips and hot breath.

/*\

Looking back, Hermione would always remember the feeling of relief and safety when they found out how Ginger met her demise.

After Hermione had been poisoned, Ginger confirmed with her dark artifact, known as the Mirror of Vanity, that she was loveliest looking _lady of the land._ However, she checked daily for this hollow confirmation and when the Mirror told her she was no longer the best, she lost herself to her madness and _Avada Kedavra_'d herself. She never thought to see if Hermione was the cause. Instead, Ginger was consumed by her fear of growing old and the vanity that came with it. Her death was discovered when Hermione went back to her childhood house to hopefully gather the heirlooms she'd left behind the night her life was almost extinguished by the insane woman. They found the doors unlocked, the dark artifact hanging on the wall of the sitting room, and Ginger's body beneath it, face full of sadness.

Among the items Hermione brought back to Grimmauld with her from the Granger home was her mother's diary. It spoke of the difficulties she and her husband had had in trying to conceive a child. Then, by chance, a miracle happened and along came little Hermione. She spoke fondly of her adorable daughter, who, after the day she was born, insisted on calling her Snowdrop even in the journal. In the last entry, dated the morning before her death, Hermione's mother spoke of her suspicions on how Hermione the blessing had come about.

Fair as snow.

Red like blood

Rich in heart and strong like mahogany.

Three drops of blood and a heart's desire.

Her mother had inadvertently cast blood magic, tapping into what little magic ran in her veins to give her daughter life. Unfortunately, because it wasn't structured, it slowly used her own life to cast the spell over seven years, which was what caused her sickness and ultimately her death.

Hermione and Harry found time to properly mourn her parents after settling the affairs she'd never been able to, thanks to Ginger. That included the little gift Hermione had dreamed of while dead, commissioned specially for her boyfriend and made from pensieve memories and old photographs.

It was Hermione's actions to those she loved, and even those she didn't, that made her the loveliest of them all.

/*\

_'Thou, lady, art loveliest here, I ween; But lovelier far is the new-made queen.'_

* * *

**_Author's Note: _**

_Separate Disclaimer: The book excerpt that Harry reads is actually part of the narrative from the movie Snow White and the Huntsman. Also, the Mirror dialog is from the actual Grimm tale in it's various forms slightly modified._

_And obviously, if you're reading this. You probably get what story this is. But again, what's the original name?_

_Side note, I want to pimp this awesome story I've been reading lately. It's called _The Debt of Time_ by _Shealone_. It's incredible. It's about 64 awesome sized chapters and she updates almost every day. I'm totally hooked. Check it out!_


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